


Dwelsinge

by kiafeles



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Yoosung is a vet, set after yoosung's after ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 14:11:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9328304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiafeles/pseuds/kiafeles
Summary: On his bad days, Yoosung finds it hard to count his blessings.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My first mysme fic! I wanted to write vet Yoosung, so this is set some years after Yoosung’s after ending. Jumin wasn’t even supposed to be in the fic buuuut he demanded his time. This story was also a bit of an experiment so I’m not really sure how it turned out, but I kinda like it.

Jumin is supposed to come in with Elizabeth for a check-up today. Any minute now, actually, Yoosung realizes. The vet sees Jumin’s name and a timestamp on his list of incoming patients, the details of the check-up spelled out in menacing black type, glaring up at him from the office computer. After a moment of blank staring, none of which can be good for his one perfect eye, he clicks the file away and swallows heavily, calling for one of the interns to come to the computer. She pads in and relieves him of his duty, nodding at him in sympathy, before he finally stands up to leave.

 

He makes his way to the reception desk with heavy steps, the sounds of barks and yowls a constant in his periphery. While they usually provide comfort, grounding him in his work, they’re only adding to the chorus of chaos that’s formed a grey cloud over Yoosung’s head all day. 

 

Yoosung isn’t keen on seeing anyone from the RFA today, even his wife, who isn’t due back home until late tonight. But an appointment is an appointment, and he hasn’t seen Jumin in days. It’s only fair, Yoosung reasons. 

 

He reaches the receptionist with perfect timing, watches as Jumin struts in, cage in hand and trailed by three security guards. Yoosung harrumphs as they file in and settle down in the too small seats of the waiting area. They add a sense of unease to the usually friendly space, but Yoosung can’t blame Jumin’s paranoia. It has only been enhanced with age and repeated hardship.

 

“Jumin,” Yoosung greets, holding his hand out to meet his friend. Jumin adjusts the cat carrier to sit under one arm and shakes Yoosung’s hand once, a practiced, professional gesture, but one that carries a seasoned familiarity.

 

“Dr. Kim,” he nods, and Yoosung rolls his eyes in exasperation. Jumin’s face remains stoic for a moment longer, and the silence stretches, before he lets out a single raspy chuckle, and the false tension abates.

 

“You don’t seem very happy to see me today, Yoosung,” he says, in that peculiar way of his. Yoosung can’t help but agree, and yet only shrugs half-heartedly as he calls Jumin back to one of the examination rooms.

 

“I messed up breakfast today,” he lies, bouncing on his heels. “I tried making waffles, but all I made was a mess. But no worries! I’m sure I’ll get it next time.”

 

“My offer still stands, you know. I have chefs that would be more than welcome to teach you some gourmet recipes.”

 

“Nah, it’s all right,” Yoosung waves him off, easing into the banter. Jumin has become much of a close peer to Yoosung in recent years. Their age gap has narrowed, Yoosung’s maturity has increased, and Jumin’s cold demeanor has softened, so the back-and-forth teasing sits comfortably now.

 

Jumin has even been coming to Yoosung’s clinic for the past few years’ worth of Elizabeth’s check-ups, content that Yoosung’s care is up to par with anyone Jumin’s money can buy. Yoosung doesn’t betray that trust.

 

So, given this heightened intimacy, Jumin must know. Today is one of Yoosung’s bad days. But Jumin doesn’t comment, because he understands that, regardless of any internal struggles, work must get done.

 

Jumin lays Elizabeth out onto the table carefully, before retreating to the wall.

 

“Notice anything I should know about?” Yoosung asks, his focus on the feline in front of him.

 

“She seems to walk with a limp, sometimes.”

 

“Hmm...she is getting old. But I’ll take a look anyway.” He pokes and prods and moves the cat around in his examinations, and the room falls into a comfortable silence. 

 

Sniffing, Yoosung pushes his glasses up his nose and squints a bit. By now, he’s gotten used to his mismatched eyes, but the glaring white fur on the glaring white table in a glaringly bright office still gives him trouble from time to time. He’d been irritated at this obstacle when he was a bit younger, frustrated when unforeseen complications resulted in only partial vision returned to his one eye, but he was used to the glasses before the surgery and he’s fine with them after. 

 

He deals with it, as best as he can. 

 

Throwing such thoughts away, Yoosung begins to hum cheerfully in an attempt to lighten his mood. As he examines Elizabeth, he makes any necessary adjustments without pause.

 

Yoosung almost feels regret in how he is to break this, mere moments later. 

 

“Hear anything from Seven?” he asks in a simple, deceptively neutral tone.

 

“No,” Jumin swallows, averting his eyes. “Luciel has been as silent as ever. Ever since his last message, at least.”

 

The last message, a terse affirmation that Seven was in fact still alive, was sent a despairing eight months ago through the messenger. Despite the attempt to reassure the somewhat scattered members of the RFA, it was anything but comforting. Yoosung doesn’t think he’ll ever stop worrying, and figures that Seven must still be ignoring Yoosung’s texts through some sick sense of guilt, so Yoosung has given up on that front. He’ll wait until Seven’s mad dash is complete, however long it may take. It’s been years already, so Yoosung doesn’t have much hope in Seven’s endeavors, but still. 

 

He can wait.

 

Nonetheless, it hurts. Seven’s increasingly lengthy absences, once a cause of buzzing concern, now hover numbly in the back of Yoosung’s head, buried under more pressing, present concerns.

 

And yet, there’s no harm in asking. No harm in feigning optimism.

 

“But please, focus on Elizabeth III,” Jumin breaks Yoosung from his thoughts, and the vet refocuses on the task at hand. The rest of the check-up goes smoothly. Elizabeth, thanks to the dutiful care of her owner, is as healthy as ever and aging ever so gracefully.

 

“She’s looking good. Just a bit old.” Yoosung hands Elizabeth back to Jumin, explains in a bit more that Jumin can do to make her as comfy at home as possible, and then finishes by reaching to rub behind one of her ears. With the check-up officially over, he proceeds to coo at the feline, rubbing her head and pouting his lips.

 

“She’s still as pretty as a kitten.” Yoosung laughs despite Jumin’s pout, but the other man doesn’t pull her away from the doctor. Perhaps he realizes that petting the kitties provide comfort on days like these, so the businessman simply turns his nose up and grumbles something unintelligible.

 

Yoosung lets the happy couple off with a smile and a wave, accepting Jumin’s considerably hefty tip with as much tact as he can muster. The older man promises to bring her back again next year, departing with a pointed comment for Yoosung to tell Mrs. Kim hello. Yoosung reassures him that he won’t forget, and the bodyguards follow the businessman out of the clinic like a dark train.

 

+

 

He stops by the day care on his way home from work, picks up his child in a haze, and hits the shower as soon as the kid is settled safely in his room. Yoosung hopes to scrub away the grime and foggy feeling of the day before his wife returns, later that night. He succeeds in rubbing his body raw, at the very least, but his mood is still soured. As he stares in the mirror, he wipes away some of the condensation collected on the surface, before replacing his glasses. A bit of fog remains, but no scrubbing will rid it from his vision, so he finishes dressing and leaves the bathroom, defeated.

 

His wife isn’t due back home until later that night, so his only duty is to care for the baby and provide himself dinner, but even those simple tasks seem burdensome at the moment. He’s usually more energetic than this, he knows, but he simply can’t seem to get into a rhythm today. It’s frustrating, so he attempts to cheer himself up by making his favorite dish and enjoying his favorite activity.

 

“Hey honey,” he says, scooping up his toddler and bringing him to the living room. Setting the child down on the floor and a plate of food on the coffee table, Yoosung reaches for his son’s treasured toy, where it had been left strewn on the carpet. Placing it in front of the child, the toy is a large stuffed star with a sewn on smile and purple, button eyes. 

 

The child, quiet for his age but impressively intelligent, takes the star in a grip and hugs it to his chest. Yoosung feels the sight warming him up from the insight out, and watches as the child alternates between whispering at it and waving it at his side. It’s absolutely adorable, and Yoosung snaps a few pictures to send in a chatroom later.

 

As enthralling as the sight is, however, Yoosung finds his eyelids drooping early that night. It’s hardly been a half hour before he feels the lull of sleep calling him, begging him to make up for multiple nights of tossing and turning. After his head nods one too many times, he decides that, yeah, maybe he’ll try and sleep early tonight.

 

He puts his son to bed, an endeavor that takes a blessedly short amount of time, before crawling in his own bed.

 

The sound of a door closing is what wakes him up the first time.

 

“Yoosung? Why is it so dark in here...” calls out his wife, her voice ringing in the apartment. “I’m sorry I came back so late. I had to go to C&R to pick up some paperwork for the party. By the way, Jumin says he saw you today already, but he sent over a gift basket anyway for—”

 

She stops and the sound of scuffling fills the apartment. A moment later, the door to their bedroom opens, spilling harsh yellow light on the floor. Yoosung groans, turning his back to the entryway, and waves a hand groggily at her in greeting.

 

She giggles as she comes to sit at the end of the bed. “Aww, tired?”

 

“Yeah…” he murmurs. His voice sounds distant and foggy, even to his own ears, like he’s speaking around cotton.

 

“Rough day at work?” she says, as she begins to rub soft circles in his back. He feels a bit guilty, taking up her energy like this, but the movement is too comforting for him to stop it. Rolling over onto his back, he blinks up at her and smiles, reaching to grab her other hand.

 

“I love you,” he says around the cotton. Her eyes soften in response, and she leans over to place a kiss on his forehead.

 

“All right, I’ll stop bothering you,” she settles, leaving the room after a calm moment. He dimly notes her settling into bed an indeterminate amount of time later, but by then the fog has returned and his attempts at deep sleep seem fulfilled.

 

That is, until the dreams return.

 

They usually stick to consistent themes, are absent for months at a time before returning in full force, and disrupt his sleep and cheery mood in more ways than he is willing to admit.

 

Sometimes he feels like he’s exploding, ripped into a million tiny pieces, destined to become a trillion tiny stars. Sometimes he feels like he’s run away, off to the past, before life got complicated and death and disappearance became factors for decision making. Other times, he dreams he leaves the RFA. Other times, he’s forcefully removed, a slave in mind and body. Sometimes he sees Rika’s face, twisted and broken. Other times, it’s V, screaming at him silently, all but his mouth obscured by dark, empty shades. Every so often, Yoosung sees Luciel, his hair dyed ashy grey like death and his smile foreign and faded.

 

Tonight, his dream seems solidified and familiar.

 

Inside that same control room, the details of which are ever changing, Yoosung sits on the floor. Sometimes the walls are silver, sometimes they’re drenched in gold or red, other nights in mint green and baby blue. Tonight they take on more realistic, metallic hues, pierced only by rusty browns and blood reds.

 

He sees that same man, his face distorted and shifting like a malicious computer glitch. He observes the man reach down to him, caressing his face. The touch is toxic, and Yoosung does his best to move away, even as he feels his limbs suspended as if in water.

 

He relives that moment, often, in this dreamscape. The details are always different, the setting always altered in some way, but the actions are the same.

 

Yoosung doesn’t realize he’s awake again until he hears his own whimpering, until he feels a soft hand touch his shoulder and tears making cool trails down his face.

 

“Yoo...sung…” her voice is broken halfway by a yawn, and he shivers as her warmth on his back gives way to cool air. It hits his sweaty back like a wave, only enhancing the feeling that every nerve in his body is standing on end. He whimpers again at the sound of a click, before light fills the room from its station on a bedside table.

 

“Yoosung,” his wife repeats, her voice clearer and increasingly alert. It takes him a moment to realize that he must have woken her up. He’s hit immediately with guilt. Usually he deals with the dreams silently, but tonight must have been bad enough to warrant a decidedly physical response.

 

“‘m fine,” he grunts, sitting up. “Go back to sleep.” 

 

Perhaps he can get a glass of water, pace a bit in the apartment. On nights like this, he sometimes watches television or looks over his sleeping child. He finds comfort in watching the soft rise and fall of his child’s tiny chest, in reassuring himself of what is his.

 

“Hey, hey—” her voice brings him back from these frantic thoughts, and he turns to meet her concerned stare. 

 

He doesn’t wish to worry her or keep her awake—she has to get up early for work just like he does—and yet he finds his original plan of escape undesirable. With one last shiver, he leans forward to embrace her. She runs long fingers through his blonde locks and he melts into her.

 

“Sssh, sssh, it’s okay, baby. It’s okay now,” she coos. He lets her whisper sweet nothings to him in the yellow light, until he’s calmed down and they’ve settled back down, warmed in each other’s embrace.

 

Perhaps there is a bit of lingering regret, that she has to put up with him. And yet he knows she has night terrors of her own, and that he deals with them in much the same manner as she does now. He’s happy to have her there for them, and he calms down further as he goes over what he truly possesses. The mantra is soothing, he’s discovered, so he returns to it frequently. 

 

He’s happy to have a wife and a healthy child. He’s happy to have parents that are still alive and kicking, and a sister who’s simply a train ride away. He’s happy to have a successful business, doing a job he loves. 

 

He’s happy to have the remaining members of the RFA with him: Jumin, a closer friend than he often gives credit for. Jaehee, a kind and constant presence, always offering Yoosung a warm drink when he stops by at the cafe. Zen, who always finds time out of his busy, glamorous actor’s schedule to spend time airing grievances with an old friend. They’re still his family, even after all these years.

 

Yoosung finishes counting his blessings and curls back up next to his wife. Today has been a rough day, but he’s had worse, and he can almost guarantee that more are to come.

 

But he can be happy now, so he settles back into slumber, and aims for rest. Tomorrow will be better, he reasons. Tomorrow will bring sunlight, he knows. 

 

Whispering a final word of reassurance to his wife, he lets himself fall.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Talk to me on the tweet tweet [@kiafeles](https://twitter.com/kiafeles)


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